He staggered backwards while his heartbeat thundered in his ears; berating himself for letting himself get lured in so easily by Black Widow Aseri; the name the galactic press had given her. --From Spiders and Butterflies, by Rokangus (Beyond the Saga)
But you do not answer to gods anymore. You answer to Anakin -- and as much as you want your rest, as much as you know that you could talk to him and tell him that you wish you could sleep, and have your sleep for eternity, you know that he will not hear. He will hear that you want to leave him, and for that alone, he will bring you back. Without rest, without hope, without a prayer of eternity, just endless cycles, of returning to decaying flesh and that same flat taste of the grave, to a shrouded angel with his selfish good intentions... and to the white room. --From In the White Room, Winner of "Best Vignette" Winter Fanfic Award, by Lady_Moonbeam (The Saga)
"I do believe she's okay, little one," Rune said assuring, patting her head. "You do look like one of those still alive. But it’s best you stay down here. There's so much carnage up there it is not meant for such pretty eyes to see." After giving them all one more smile, Rune reached into the satchel she had picked up and pulled out a thermal detonator. She asked, "Do you know what this is?" They shook their heads. "Anyone? No clue? Well, have you ever played hot rock?" They all nodded with some glee; hot rock was a child's game where children in groups from two to twenty or more were in a circle, tossing a beeping ball -- the hot rock -- around at random; the beeping ball would begin to beep more and more, indicating that it was 'getting warmer', and when it got 'hot' it would hover over the last person to possess the hot rock. Some games lasted short, others very long; it was a school yard exercise, designed to wear the children down. "Well, this is an advanced version of hot rock," said Rune. She set the thermal detonator's built in timer to five minutes, armed it, and activated it. It began to beep. "This game tests your patience. Here," she gave the thermal detonator to the little girl, "why don't you try it. Pay attention to the beeping now. Don't be the last one holding it. Oh, the rest of you!" Rune got the attentions of the other children that were trying to get in on the game the little girl and her friends began so very quickly. She pulled out four more thermal detonators, and activated the set-off link feature in them: when the first explosive went off, they would all go off in unison. They were now beeping in sync with the first one, and Rune handed the bombs off to the others. "Now play, while I tend to matters upstairs." Rune went to the door, turned back to the children and yelled, "KIDS!" They stopped playing and looked at her, attentive to their new mistress. She gave them a friendly smile. "Don't worry. You'll be joining your parents soon enough. I assure you it will be no time at all." --From The Sith Maiden, by Casper_Knightshade (Before the Saga)
Noemi did not smile, but her chin came up as though startling from a light sleep. "You don’t seem to pay attention to your other visitors, so the powers that be figured it would be wise for a familiar face to catch your attention." She was seated at the viewport, face shadowed in profile. There was, as always, a slight blue hue to her entire form, but the features were still perfectly familiar. All-too-familiar. He’d memorized the feel of her ebony hair between his fingertips, the way her almond-shaped eyes narrowed in amusement above those slightly crooked teeth and button nose. He knew the line of her jaw, the feel of her lips. Her loose tunic concealed too many scars than he cared to remember, but the one scar he remembered best was one that was his doing. "They certainly succeeded," he admitted, settling into the chair at his desk. "Of seventeen thousand, two hundred ninety-four possible harbingers of doom, they had to pick you this year?" The comment was flippant, but his voice sounded something like a badly-aligned sublight engine -- trembling and throbbing. She wouldn’t be fooled by his false bravado, but she didn’t need to be. The smile materialized in the form of a smirk as she turned to face him. "I have my own grievances, too, Yric." He grimaced slightly. "Of course you do," he said quietly. "Why don’t you simply get on with it and allow the others their due time?" She could only smile with half of her face, since the other half was practically a crater, a hollowed mass of flesh and gore. Her dark eye was fixed on him, but the other was half-blasted away, hanging by the optic nerve. The simple elegance of her beauty was decimated. And it was all his fault. "In due time," she assured him, "but first, you need to remember why we come each year. When you understand that, perhaps you will know what we require." --From Bloodprice, Winner of the Ghastly Fiction Challenge, by DarthIshtar (Beyond the Saga)
It was late in the night the explosion rocked the skies of Endor. The Death Star was gone. The Emperor and Darth Vader were dead. Commander Jolie Sera stared blankly at the data screens of the AT-AT walker she had been trapped inside of for hours now. Her comrade-in-arms was stoned dead, laying just a few feet away from her crushed shoulders. The data screens flickered as the announcement came. ["The Imperial Airborne forces have fallen! All remaining grounds men retreat!"] With a cry of unadulterated fury, Commander Sera screamed in desperate outrage, as she kicked hard at the top door of the broken and battered machine, in a last effort to free herself from her prison. In one pitiful and final attempt to rush to the defense of her fellow comrades. But she didn't move. She couldn't. Her legs were bloodied and nearly broken. It hurt far too much to move anymore. "No!" was a soft cry from her chest. The star dust from space danced in the heavens of Endor's great sky, and shouts of thrump and victory could be heard in distant rumbles from the night, and now rising dawn of a new day. The Empire had fallen. It was true. Everything she had ever fought for and believed in was gone. The Rebellion scum had stolen victory from the Imperial might. It was the commander's final thought as death took her before dawn's final light. --Dawn’s Final Light, by Sara_Kenobi, from the Collapse of the Empire Anthology (Beyond the Saga).
Unbeknownst to her, the shadows of the resting grounds began to move with life all their own, responding to her unshakable grief. The shadows permanently left their sources and gathered ever so slowly at a distance and view that allowed the growing phantasm of darkness to bare witness to the Sith Maiden’s failure. She was not ready, she could not handle the responsibility, the power, the burden and the gift that was the Dark Side of the Force. All she did was grieve and let the grief dictate her life. The grief should anger her, motivate her to do greater things, greater evil and wickedness in the name of her lost unborn child. Instead all she could do was live solely by grief, let her emotions be her motivation to live and not use her emotions like a Dark Side entity should. Naressa Rapier was not ready. As the shadows of darkness finally formed into a fog-like substance, it decided to move forward and be done with her. A slow death was not going to happen; just a removal of her soul to be sent directly to whatever she thought was hell. Her body will fertilize the soil, enrich it with the knowledge of failure for the first time ever a Sith Maiden was not ready for the burden of being a true Matriarch of the Sith. It came towards Naressa, and reached out with a hand of instant death to grab her... "I’m sorry," Naressa whispered out, still unaware of the shadow that was going to kill her. She never would, for the shadow suddenly began to retreat and separate to form the many shadows in which it was created from, and resume their places of hiding. "I’m so sorry," Naressa choked out again. She raised her sad face, not bothering to wipe off the dirt or shake off the grass that clung. Her hand shook as she caressed the crypt compassionately, her attempt at trying to caress something that was of her Little One. "My anger is what got you killed. I -- I was angry at myself for not getting the job done the first time." In her mind the memory of what she was referring to flashed in her mind; ten years ago, at Rapier Manor, high above on the Tower Maze. She was not alone, for Juna held on to her with one arm wrapped around a leg while her other hand had a hold of Enothchild Sarch’s hand as he struggled to look over the side along with the Rapiers. Down below, so very far down, was nothing more than cracks in the cement and blood where Magus Prophet had landed after he was stabbed through the back and chest and hurled over the side of the tall structure. Her energy was poor at the time from having healed the Jedi Master, but she felt that if she let go of her now growing anger, released through her being, she would have enough strength to finish the near dead monster. As the power built up in her Naressa could see him, see his stumbling form in the woods fall to the ground in a weakened state and prepared to destroy him. Even if it meant it would mean her life. --From The Fading Light, by Casper_Knightshade (Classic JC Stories Board)